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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24686413">Filling The Gaps</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meg13/pseuds/Meg13'>Meg13</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>What Happens At Ted's On Taco Tuesday, Doesn't Always Stay At Ted's On Taco Tuesday [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Chapters 1-4 Originally Posted On Tumblr, F/M, Major Spoilers For Fallout, Maybe Read That One First?, Not In Chronological Order, PG-Mature, a collection of prompts &amp; unwritten scenes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:29:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,400</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24686413</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meg13/pseuds/Meg13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompts and unwritten scenes from Fallout.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Barbara Lake/Walter Strickler | Stricklander</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>What Happens At Ted's On Taco Tuesday, Doesn't Always Stay At Ted's On Taco Tuesday [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784851</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>115</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. this is when our story begins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <strong>prompt: Hey, are you still doing unwritten scenes? I would kill for the scene of Walter and Barbara in that bar, you know, *all the way back then* if you catch my drift =)))</strong>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <strong>mature, not explicit</strong>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-<em>this is when our story begins</em>-</p><p>“We could… get out of here? If you want.”</p><p>Walter nods, emerald gaze drawn to the redhead’s mouth as she nervously sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. It’s a clear invitation. One that – <em>oh, yes</em> – he’d very much like to accept.</p><p>Even if he knows he shouldn’t.</p><p>But that’s the thing about tequila – it has an innate ability to suppress all rational thought when presented with temptation such as this. Or any temptation, really.</p><p>Not that it would be easy to turn her down sober, either. Because, goddamn, this woman is amazing. Clever and gorgeous, she’s somehow managed to keep him utterly enchanted for <em>hours </em>now with no effort at all. Could she be a witch? Or some other type of fae? How else, he wonders, could her touch make him feel so <em>alive</em>?</p><p>“I’ve got roommates,” she continues softly, leaning a fraction closer. “But you said your apartment is just a few blocks away, right?”</p><p>Her hand slips from the edge of the bar to his knee, and it takes every ounce of inebriated self-control he can muster not to kiss her right there in front of everyone - consequences be damned - but somehow manages to reign in the impulse. Shamelessly flirting with a student is bad enough, but snogging one three tables away from where his hawk-eyed department chair and her girlfriends are slamming margaritas is professional suicide.</p><p>“Yes, that’s right.” A roguish, appreciative smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth as he covers her hand with his. She feels like fireworks under his palm – bright and buzzing and bursting with anticipation. Which makes it all the more difficult for him to relinquish his hold on her a moment later to dig through his trousers for his wallet. “Let me just…”</p><p>He stuffs a handful of cash into the glass containing their tab – not even a little concerned with leaving a 63% tip – and tosses back the last of his Dos Equis, before leading her eagerly through the bar. Her grin is wide and infectious as they step outside into the cool winter air. “So, what do I owe you?”</p><p>Walter shakes his head. “Not a damn thing, love.”</p><p>“Nuh-uh,” she tuts, playfully wagging her index finger in his direction. “I am a big girl and I can pay for my own drinks, thank you very much.”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” He winds an arm around her shoulder and leans down to whisper suggestively into her ear, “However, I think you deserve to be absolutely <em>spoiled</em> tonight.”</p><p>And, ooh, he could get used to that delightful little gasp. The blush, too.</p><p>“Fine,” she says after a beat, brow arching. “But drinks are on me next time.”</p><p>His eyes flash as he guides her forward, away from the raucous bar and this week’s live cover of Mambo Number 5.</p><p>Next time, huh?</p><p>He supposes he’s not overly opposed to the idea. He <em>could</em> use a distraction from Bular’s incessant whining – though, pursuing anything more than a single night with someone would be a definite departure from the way he usually lets these things play out.</p><p>Relationships are messy.</p><p>Not that he’s envisioning a <em>relationship</em> with her! A good time or two, sure, but certainly not a <em>relationship</em>. No, no. Those are reserved for humans and trolls – whole creatures with more than just snark, spite, and sinew holding them together.</p><p>And, anyway, there’s just not enough time in the day for something as frivolous as a – <em>Fuck.</em> Can he stop thinking about that goddamn word for two whole seconds?</p><p>One night, that’s it: get in, get off, get out.</p><p>“Hey, who made King Arthur’s round table?” She tilts her face to shoot him an amused, playful smirk. “Sir-Cumference.”</p><p>Fine. Two nights. Three, tops.</p><p>“Oh, dear. That was <em>truly </em>terrible.” He pulls her closer, laughing along as she snorts into his shoulder. “Have you heard the one about the pediatrist?”</p><p>The jokes are <em>awful</em>, but that doesn’t stop them from giggling all the way to his apartment. And when they finally come to a stop outside the old, brick building, their cheeks are tinged pink with mirth.</p><p>“You know…” He clears his throat and tries to make his nervous shrug appear nonchalant as they loiter uncertainly on the sidewalk. “I’d understand if you changed your mind. We can have some tea, or I could call you a cab. I don’t want you to feel obligated in any –“</p><p>“Walter?”</p><p>He gulps. “Yes, Barbara?”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>And then she’s kissing him – fingers twisting in his lapels, body pliant and mouth impatient as his arm circles around her waist. He turns and pulls her forward, palm coming up to cradle the base of her skull while he attempts to maneuver them up the path to his doorstep. They reach the stoop without incident, though he does very nearly drop his keys on the top step when she gives a needy little whine and rocks against his hips.</p><p>Somehow, he manages to get them inside without breaking the kiss.</p><p>“I…” She breathes, eyes fluttering open when they finally pull away. God, he adores that little sideways smile of hers. And, okay – maybe, he’ll give this one four nights. “Um. Wow.”</p><p>He can’t agree more.</p><p>“You’ve got a nice place,” she continues, brows arching and mouth twisting into a decidedly sultry smirk. “How about a tour?”</p><p>The look on her face sends a shiver of anticipation all the way down to the tips of his toes, and he can’t help but groan as she helps him shrug out of his tweed jacket. “Of course. We can begin in the bedroom. If that’s alright with you?”</p><p>“Funny you should mention it.” Her teeth find his earlobe. “That’s the room I’m most interested in seeing.”</p><p>“Great minds…” His eyes fall shut as her hands rove over his chest and down to his waistline, nails grazing enticingly against the skin under his recently rumpled button-down. Oh, for fuck’s sake. A week. Minimum.</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>He blinks, a little too preoccupied with the way her nimble fingers are tugging at his belt to comprehend her curious hum. “What?”</p><p>“You said –“ But her tease is swallowed completely by a low gasp when his hands creep under her sweater and glide over her ribcage. “<em>Shit</em>.”</p><p>Sweet Pale Lady, he enjoys making her pretty little mouth say dirty little words. “May I?”</p><p>She nods without hesitation or shame, and he guides the sweater over her head in one practiced motion before letting his gaze drop to her chest. Perfect. Just… <em>perfect</em>. He wants to lick, nip, and nibble every single inch of her smooth, creamy flesh.</p><p>Starting with that delicious collarbone.</p><p>He kisses her again, <em>hard</em> – growling when her palm slides firmly over the front of his khakis to pop open the button. The zipper follows immediately after, and her fingers have just slipped under his waistband when she suddenly goes still.</p><p>“Wait. I, um…” She pulls back an inch or two with a reluctant whimper, chest heaving. “I don’t have a… You know.”</p><p>Whatever a ‘you know’ is supposed to be doesn’t quite register with the thoroughly mussed changeling. Especially once her thumbs resume gently circling the sensitive skin above his briefs.</p><p>“Like, I wasn’t…” Oh, god, the blush is back and – Fuck. Can he please put his mouth back on her neck now? “I wasn’t planning on something like <em>this</em> happening, so I didn’t bring any with me. Do you… have… one?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>She gives him a pointed, yet shy look. “Protection?”</p><p>Protection? Why on earth would they need – Oh, right. Condoms. Damn. When was the last time he’d needed one of <em>those</em>? There’d been that affair with the ambassador a few years back, but it’s not like they’d needed to worry about contraceptives and changelings are immune to most human diseases anyway…</p><p>A disappointed hiss escapes through his teeth.</p><p>“I don’t. No. I didn’t expect…” He trails off, gesturing between the two of them. “It’s, uh, been a while.”</p><p>She nibbles her bottom lip, expression thoughtful and determined. “So, you’re clean?”</p><p>“Oh. Yes.” He nods vigorously. “Without a doubt.”</p><p>“Okay, well…” Her lips curl into a relieved grin as, without further ado, she shoves his trousers over his hips. “I’m on the pill, so we’re all good.”  </p><p>(they are <em>not</em> all good)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. this is when we allow ourselves to hope</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <strong>prompt: For an unwritten scene how about when Barbara found out Strickler had been decimarred</strong>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-<em>this is when we allow ourselves to hope</em>-</p><p>Jim returns home from detention to an empty house.</p><p>At least, he thinks it’s empty until he wanders into the kitchen for a glass of water and looks through the open window to discover his mother sitting in the backyard. She’s facing away from the house with her legs stretched out in front of her as she reclines back onto her palms for support. Her face is tilted up and to the side, allowing him to notice how her eyes are closed against the bright Spring sunshine.</p><p>Even with tears still staining her cheeks, she looks peaceful. Less weary, more like herself.</p><p>And Jim <em>really</em> doesn’t want to disturb her.</p><p>He hesitates for a long moment, internally debating whether the stress of this latest development is worth discussing. But he can’t <em>not</em> tell her, so he sets down his cup and slips outside.</p><p>“Mom?” Jim says softly, crossing over to her. “Hey.”</p><p>Her eyes flutter open at the sound of his voice. “Oh. Hi, honey.”</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Barbara says and pats the grass beside her. “Better today. Take a seat?”</p><p>He does.</p><p>“How was detention?” She smirks as he settles down beside her. “Did you learn your lesson? Or should I expect you to add ‘grand theft auto’ to the hobbies section of your resume?”</p><p>Jim rolls his eyes, but gives a gentle laugh. “You <em>know</em> we didn’t steal Uhl’s truck.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Barbara says and nudges him with her elbow. “But it’s fun to tease you about it.”</p><p>“Mo-om.”</p><p>She grins, though it doesn’t quite reach up to her bright blue eyes, as Jim shifts to rest his head on her shoulder. It’s nice. Normal, even. Like it used to be before… Well, just <em>before</em>.</p><p>“Mom?”</p><p>“Hmmm?”</p><p>“I, um…” He frowns and reluctantly lifts his head. “Something happened when I was at school today.”</p><p>Barbara turns, immediately concerned. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Um.” Jim takes a deep, shaking breath as the memory of his dad’s claws – strong and sharp – wrapping around his neck flash through his mind. “A troll showed up. He, uh… He attacked me.”</p><p>“Jim!” Barbara pushes forward, tucking her legs under her as she launches into doctor-mode. “Are you injured? Do you need medical attention? Wait, those are scratches on your throat. Why didn’t you say anything!?”</p><p>“Mom.”Jim sighs as his mother’s nimble fingers rove over the bruises blooming along his collar. “Mom!”</p><p>She stops, eyes wide.</p><p>“It was Strickler. It was… It was my dad,” he breathes, lip trembling. “He’s, um… Mom. He’s not dead.”</p><p>Barbara’s brow furrows in confusion at what her son is trying to tell her. “Honey, no. You said Gunmar…” She trails off, unable to finish the sentence. “Your mind must be playing tricks on you.”</p><p>“No. I, um, talked to Blinky about it. And he said Strickler’s under a spell or an enchantment, or <em>something</em>.” Jim attempts to swallow the lump in his throat, but fails miserably. “There’s this sword. It’s called the Decimaar Blade and it’s… Well, it’s used to control people – or, trolls. Whatever. And, Strickler, he… Mom, I didn’t know. I swear. That sword was at his neck and I thought… I thought he was gone but he’s not. He’s <em>not</em>.”</p><p>“Wait. Just… Walt’s alive?” His mother interrupts, her hand slipping subconsciously to her stomach. “You <em>saw </em>him?”</p><p>“Yeah, but… Gunmar is controlling him. Totally. <em>Completely.</em>” Jim swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand and shakes his head. “Aaarrrgghh says he’s not even in there anymore. That he’s basically just a shell, a puppet, for Gunmar to use.”</p><p>“Jim, I don’t…” Her voice cracks as a fresh wave of tears threaten to fall. “I don’t understand. Walter is <em>not </em>dead?”</p><p>“No, he’s not.” The teen closes his eyes. How the hell is he supposed to explain what’s happened? What can he say to make her understand the hopelessness of the situation? “But… Okay. Um. Do you remember those magic specials Toby used to make us watch? The ones where the magicians would hypnotize a member of the audience and make them do stupid stuff? Like jump on one foot or quack like a duck?”</p><p>“What does that have to do with –“</p><p>“It’s like that,” Jim says, “but <em>permanent</em>.”</p><p>Barbara stares at him a moment, resolve slowly overtaking the look of despair on her delicate features. Screw that - they’re <em>going </em>to get Walt back. “Honey, no. Those people were always still there.” She reaches out to comb her fingers through his messy dark hair. “They may have been quacking or hopping around for a while, but they were always back to normal the second the magician snapped his fingers.”</p><p>She’s right, of course.</p><p>Jim saw the way his father’s eyes had flickered – how the blank, detached aggression in them had turned to desperate determination.</p><p>“You’re right,” he says, nodding. “We just need to figure out how to snap him out of it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. this is when we offer comfort</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <strong>prompt: If you're still taking Fallout specific prompts on missing scenes, I would love to hear how Strickler got that blanket on him in Trollmarket! Or!! Oooooh Jim's POV of seeing Strickler in the cavern for the first time after so long, and trying to approach Strickler! Much appreciated hope all is well!</strong>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-<em>this is when we offer comfort</em>-</p><p>The citizens of Trollmarket aren’t a very welcoming bunch – this Aaarrrgghh knows from personal experience. So, it’s no surprise to him when a group of particularly rowdy regulars corner Strickler at Glug’s a few hours after the changeling’s slightly overdramatic escape from the Trollhunter’s mother.</p><p>Aaarrrgghh growls low in his throat, eyes narrowing as one of the more vicious bulls approaches his inebriated… friend? Er, no. That doesn’t seem right at all. Friend of a friend, maybe? Acquaintance? Coworker’s recently discovered biological father?</p><p>It doesn’t matter.</p><p>What <em>does</em> matter is that Strickler is obviously incapable of defending himself and will likely have his squishy human face pummeled beyond repair if the Krubera doesn’t immediately step in. Cracking his knuckles, Aaarrrgghh pushes out of his chair so forcefully it’s sent careening across the room.</p><p>“Leave,” he grunts after having successfully garnered the lead instigator’s attention. “Now.”</p><p>The bull considers him a moment, then finally decides a brawl with the infamous ex-General – even with three buddies to back him up – isn’t in his best interests. “Fine.” He sneers and snaps his shoulders. “Come on guys.”</p><p>Aaarrrgghh watches them glare and gnash their teeth as they file out, and feels nothing but vindication for choosing to protect the defenseless changeling. After all, Jim and his mother would be absolutely devastated if anything happened to him.</p><p>But now he needs to figure out what to do with the mouthy little gremlin. Had Strickler always been this talkative? Or, was it the liquor causing him to blather on about his recent breakup? Either way, Aaarrrgghh knows he’s got to get him somewhere quiet and private before he reveals something entirely inappropriate – the Trollhunter’s paternity, for instance.</p><p>Groaning, the behemoth shoots daggers at the crowd as he slowly makes his way to the little table Strickler has been hunkered down at for the past few hours. The changeling looks up at him and grins drunkenly.</p><p>“Aarghaumont!” Walt slurs, swaying in his seat. “How are you, ‘ol chap? Wanna drink?”</p><p>And then he promptly passes out.</p><p>Aaarrrgghh winces as Strickler’s forehead smashes down against the sandstone table. It probably would have hurt – if he were conscious. But he’s not, so Aaarrrgghh sighs and scoops him up over his shoulder and heads to the only place he can think of with little-to-no foot traffic: Blinky’s library.</p><p>He receives a few odd looks as he traverses the streets of Trollmarket, but ignores them all. It’s not like he cares what they think anyway. Strickler may have a <em>very</em> sketchy past, but so does he. And, really, how can he judge the changeling for committing sins far too familiar to his own for comfort?</p><p>The two of them are… eerily similar.</p><p>Which is why he takes extra care as he lays the changeling down on the softest stretch of the library’s floor and covers him with an old, worn blanket they keep for the Trollhunter.</p><p> Just in case his squishy human body gets cold.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. this when history repeats itself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <strong>prompt: for the Fallout specific prompt or ‘unwritten scene’ requests, Barbara realizing she's pregnant YET AGAIN by Walter?</strong>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-<em>this is when history repeats itself</em>-</p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>Barbara purses her lips and tilts her head, thoughtful gaze locked on the little white stick sitting on the desk in front of her. It’s been less than a minute since she left the restroom down the hall, yet two very vibrant pink lines stare back at her.</p><p>This is unexpected. Not <em>unwanted</em>, just… unexpected.</p><p>She sighs.</p><p>There were conversations, of course. Hypothetical discussions that never <em>really</em> broached the subject of expanding their little family but lowered their inhibitions enough for them to take a rather lackadaisical approach to birth control. Which, looking back, was pretty damn stupid.</p><p>Too late to worry about it now, though.</p><p>And, anyway, she’s sure it’ll work out this time.</p><p>They’re in a happy, healthy relationship. They live together – eat, sleep, laugh together. She knows Walt, <em>trusts him</em>, and is confident he feels the same. This baby isn’t the consequence of a one-night stand, but a subconscious decision made by an established couple that is (probably) prepared to become parents again.</p><p>He’ll be shocked, but excited. She’s sure of it.</p><p>Their son’s reaction, however…</p><p>Barbara runs a hand over her face and slumps back in her office chair.</p><p>The teen still isn’t talking to her, even going as far as to relocate across the street to avoid another accidental kitchen confrontation. And that’s fine. Whatever he needs to do and however long it takes for him to process everything is… fine. It hurts, obviously, that he can’t stand the sight of her - but she <em>understands</em>.</p><p>And now this.</p><p>It’s so hard not to imagine worst-case scenarios, and her mind is already racing. What will he think? What will he say?</p><p>Oh, god. What if he assumes this is an attempt to replace him? Or to do things the ‘right way’ this time around? Will he accuse her of trying to save face again?</p><p>The thought of driving him further away is downright terrifying.</p><p>No. No, no, no. It won’t come to that. Not if she’s upfront and honest with him - like she <em>should </em>have been his whole life. They can finally be the family they were always meant to be.</p><p>Her boys will be happy.</p><p>So why can’t she shake the feeling that something awful is about to happen?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. this is when we share our grief</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>huge shoutout to Nico_Weetch for the story that inspired this little scene - <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23329834">The Apricot Promise</a></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-<em>this is when we share our grief</em>-</p><p>Walter has been home for three days when he finally notices Jim’s new bracelet.</p><p>Though, he supposes it’s not really a <em>bracelet</em> – more like a chain of hemp strung together and looped securely around the teen’s left wrist. There are a few colored beads and a larger metal orb threaded through, but the majority of it is just a series of unevenly spaced knots that seem to have been hastily tied together without rhyme or reason.</p><p>“What’s with the, uh…” He gestures curiously at the conglomeration. “The jewelry?”</p><p>“The what?” Jim asks, frowning as he follows the changeling’s gaze down to his wrist. “Oh. This?” He shrugs. “It’s… This is nothing. It’s stupid.”</p><p>Walter quirks a brow. “Then why are you trying to hide it?”</p><p>“I’m…” He lets go of his sleeve and sighs, “not.”</p><p>“Young Atlas?”</p><p>“Look, it’s not a big deal,” Jim concedes when a look of concern flashes across his father’s face. “Really. I was just… Do you remember that story you told me in the Darklands? The one about Shigir and Ohou?”</p><p>Does he remember? How could he <em>forget</em>? The circumstances may not have been ideal, but sharing that particular story with his son was easily one of the most important moments of Walter’s very long life. “I do.” He takes a deep breath, then lets it back out very slowly. “Yes. I remember.”</p><p>“Well, I guess I… sorta took it to heart.”</p><p>“I can see that.”  Walter chuckles ambivalently, and nods at the bracelet. “May I have a closer look?”</p><p> “Uhh, yeah. Sure,” Jim says, shrugging again as he reaches his arm out for inspection. “I couldn’t, like collect bells or apricot pits. But I figured I could tie a few knots.”</p><p>A few knots? Oh, no. There are dozens (if not hundreds) of the tiny tangles, and it makes Walter sick to his stomach to think that each one is a tangible reminder of the grief his child has been forced to endure – because of <em>him</em>.</p><p>“It helped,” Jim continues softly as the changeling’s thumb brushes reverently over the twine. “I felt… I don’t know. Close to you? Even though you were gone? If that even makes sense.”</p><p>His words catch in his throat, but Walter manages to convey his understanding with a small smile until he feels confident enough to speak again. “And, ah… What about these?”</p><p>He’s referring to the beads in general, but pointing specifically at a piece of metal soldered around a section of braided strands. “Oh. Um. That one’s not really…” Jim hesitates and runs a hand through his hair. His dad just <em>had</em> to choose that one, didn’t he? “Okay, so…It’s the tip from one of your knives.”</p><p>“I’m sorry?” Walter tilts his head in confusion. “How did you get one of those?”</p><p>Jim hisses through his teeth. “You sorta stabbed me with it.”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?!”</p><p>“It’s okay, though!” Jim exclaims in an attempt to mollify his father’s horrified expression. “It ricocheted! And then it got stuck in Logan Pierce’s locker. Seriously! I didn’t even feel it. It’s no big deal.”</p><p>“No big –“ Walter stares at the teen, eyes wide and incredulous. “Then why are you wearing it on your wrist? Jim, I tried to… <em>kill</em> <em>you</em>… with that knife!”</p><p>“But you didn’t.”</p><p>“That’s not the point!” He drops Jim’s arm like it’s on fire and slumps down onto the couch, palms pressing against his temples. He knows, of course – remembers what it felt like to wrap his fingers around his own son’s throat and <em>squeeze</em>…</p><p>“I know. Alright? But, listen…” Jim sighs and sits down, too. “These are <em>my </em>memories. They’re moments that are important to <em>me</em>, that make sense to <em>me</em>. This?” He taps the small metal ball. “I thought you were dead. When I look at this, I don’t think about you trying to kill me. I think about the hope I felt when I realized you were still alive.”</p><p>That’s not at all what he expected to hear, but it’s exactly what he <em>needed</em> to hear – and Walter finds himself slowly starting to relax as Jim takes the time to tell the story behind each bauble and every knot. And when his heart has finally stopped hammering in his chest, he leans forward to point at a dark blue pebble. “What’s this from?”</p><p>“Oh! Nice choice.” The teen’s eyes light up as he shiftsthe bracelet around. “So, okay. The first time I changed into my troll form, Nomura and Draal had a… bit of a hard time keeping me in check. From what Draal says, I went after Nomura and she accidentally nicked my shoulder with her khopesh.”</p><p>“Wait, so that’s…” Walter’s nose wrinkles. “<em>Disgusting</em>.”</p><p>Jim grins. “I know.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. this is when we realize the depth of our mistakes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>-this is when we realize the depth of our mistakes-</em>
</p><p>Okay.</p><p>What… <em>the</em> <em>fuck</em>… just happened?</p><p>Barbara closes her eyes and leans forward, palms pressing against the heavy oak door as she tries to make sense of the past forty-five minutes.</p><p>It had been a shock, of course, seeing <em>him</em> after so long. The initial panic, followed almost immediately by a rush of emotions she’d painstakingly buried oh-so-long-ago… God, Jim’s father – his <em>real </em>father – here, in her house.</p><p>
  <em>And she flirted with him.</em>
</p><p>She turns, one hand slipping across her ribcage as the other moves to clutch at her collarbone, and presses her back into the wood.</p><p>He hasn’t changed much. A touch grayer, yes, with a few more crinkles around those gorgeous green eyes – but the years have been good to him. That’s for <em>damn</em> sure. And she wonders, briefly, if they’ve been as good to the <em>rest </em>of him.</p><p>She sighs.</p><p>Thinking about that night still sends a shiver down her spine and, even now, that sly little smirk he’d worn as he nibbled his way over her hipbone continues to keep her company on lonely nights.</p><p>It had been good – so, <em>so good</em>.</p><p>Both times.</p><p><em>God.</em> The corner of her lip twitches.<em> The stamina.</em></p><p>He’d set the bar pretty damn high that night.</p><p>And that’s… Well. It’s not really an appropriate response to the current situation, is it? She should be putting together some sort of contingency plan, not fantasizing about the one person with the power to turn her whole world upside down.</p><p>Her thoughts suddenly jump to custody battles, and every-other-weekends, and, <em>oh god</em>, she’s lied to Jim his entire life. He’s going to hate her when he finds out.</p><p>That is – <em>if he finds out</em>.</p><p>Nope.</p><p>She squashes the idea as quickly as it comes and berates herself for even thinking it in the first place. Jim deserves the truth. She knows that – has <em>always</em> known that, and would give anything to go back and do it all over again. To make better, unselfish choices.</p><p>“Mom? You okay?”</p><p>Barbara flinches and looks up to find Jim staring at her, head tilted in concern. “Yeah.” She clears her throat and forces a smile onto her face. “Of course, honey.”</p><p>Or, she will be when she figures out how to explain to her teenage son that the man who left them eleven years ago is not his biological father and that he’s actually the product of a one-night stand she had with his<em> favorite teacher</em>. But working out a script and drumming up the courage for that particular conversation isn’t going to happen overnight – so, she pushes away the panic and lingering guilt to deal with another day.</p><p>Just like she has every single day for more than a decade.</p><p>“So, Mr. Strickler…” Barbara says, entirely-too-conversationally, as she kicks off the front door. “Has he ever mentioned anything about his family’s medical history?”</p><p>“Uh, no?” Jim’s forehead wrinkles at the seemingly random question. “Why?”</p><p>The doctor laughs and reaches out to ruffle her son’s dark hair. “Just curious.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>questions? scenes you’d like to request? let me know on tumblr: <a href="https://megan0013.tumblr.com/">megan0013</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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